Clive called me early to find out what was going on, breaking up my pity party. "Have you seen the gossip blogs this morning? The fans are ripping him apart. What on earth is going on out there?"

I sighed, "I don't know Clive. I didn't want him to meet up with her, for lots of reasons. He refused my advice on it, on both a personal and professional level." I paused. "We're not speaking right now." I was considering asking Clive if I could be replaced in Rome and go home to lick my wounds. I just didn't want to have to face the task of damage limitation caused by his reconciliation with his ex, who hadn't been popular in the fandom.

"Speaking or not, you need to get your fixer's head on, and sort this out. Pull in favours, get onto Lainey, see if you can swing her round to cheer this on. If she comes out in favour of them getting back together, maybe his fans will calm down."

My blood ran cold. Clive knew that Henry and I were a couple, yet he only cared about the PR perspective. He didn't give a toss that I was broken hearted, and hiding in a stuffy, airless hotel room. "Clive, I'm a bit upset about this, and I'm not sure that steering the gossip is an option for me right now." I was upfront.

"Sarah," Clive sighed, "I don't give a toss whether he was the father of your babies or not. We have a job to do, and we need to do it. It's not personal, but if he goes back to his ex, we need to present it in a certain way, regardless of our personal feelings. Anyway, I seem to recall you thinking that Mr Affleck was a complete tosser, yet you presented him in a favourable light every time regardless."

"I know," I said in a small voice, past the lump in my throat. It was my job. How I felt didn't play a part in it. I sniffed.

"I know you're upset, hell, I'm upset for you, but we need to do this Sarah. I'll kick him in the balls for you later. Is that fair?" Clive's voice was softer.

I ordered room service, and spent the next hour checking out the gossip sites to see what had been written. Where I could, I steered the conversation away from the dismay his supporters felt, and tried to put a positive spin on events. My heart really wasn't in it, but it was my job, and I took professional pride in being able to do it well. I also emailed all my contacts in the blogging world to ask them to put a positive spin on things. As most of them were aware that Henry and I had been together, albeit discretely, it raised a few sympathetic emails in response. There were also a hell of a lot of questions which needed to be answered.

By eleven, I'd covered all the bases that needed covering, but I knew that I had to answer the blogger's burning question; were the two of them back together? The only person who could tell me definitively was Henry himself. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialled his number. I knew he was on set, so half expected him not to answer, but call me back between takes. It rung twice before it was picked up. A woman's voice said; "Hi, Henry's phone," in a strong, American accent.

"Is, is he available...to speak?" I stammered, caught off guard.

"No, he's filming right now. It's Sarah isn't it? His PA?"

I was floored. I wasn't just his PA. He'd obviously not told her the truth. "Yes, it's Sarah. Can you ask him to call me back when he's free please?"

"Sure," she drawled, "saw the spin this morning. Was that your doing?"

"Yeah. The bosses were going crazy over all the comments." I wanted her to know that people hadn't been happy, and I'd been ordered to fix it.

"Great publicity though. The gossips just can't get enough of mine and Henry's story. The two of us are front page everywhere. It's great."

I took a deep breath. "I'm being asked if you're back together. What would you like me to tell them?" I braced myself for the answer.

"Tell them that after a night of passionate making up, we are most definitely back together. You can even hint at a proposal if you like. Something along the lines of us realising we're made for each other."

My blood ran cold.

"Ok, leave it with me," I told her through gritted teeth. I sat back and debated what to do. I had a choice between doing my job properly, which meant spinning events in a positive light, or behaving like a woman scorned, and unleashing the flying monkeys.

The flying monkeys won.

I sat and crafted a press release, detailing how Henry had dropped me the moment his ex had clicked her fingers. I wrote a heart-wringing piece about being stranded in Rome, relegated to a tiny box room so that Henry could entertain her in the suite we'd shared. I detailed the conversation I'd had with her, and how Henry hadn't even had the balls to tell me himself. In short, I aimed a giant wrecking ball at his nice guy image.

I read it through several times, before pressing send to my entire contact list. I knew I was pretty much kissing my career goodbye, but I felt sick at the deceit I'd found in the world of celebrity and was ready to quit. I knew full well I could get a job at any of the gossip magazines as a journalist.

As I waited for the furore to begin, I packed my case, ready to go home. I didn't have to wait long for the phone to start ringing. Clive was first. "Have you gone mad?" He barked.

"Something like that, yeah," I admitted. "I'm coming home. Sack me if you want, I don't really care."

"Sarah," he pleaded, "they'll all go nuts over this, I really need you to stay and help fix this. Besides, it's all very well throwing a tantrum, but how do you think you'll survive without a job? You're being way too hasty."

"Hasty? Me? I've been cheated on in public Clive. I'm not putting one single bit of 'positive spin' on that callous git's behaviour. Stuff him, stuff the studio and stuff everyone." I jabbed at my phone to cut him off. It rang again straightaway. Greg O'Brien wanted to do a hatchet job. "Do your worst," I told him.

"Will do," he replied cheerfully, pleased to be sticking it to Henry, especially with my blessing.

The rest of the afternoon was rammed with phone calls and emails. I just about found a few minutes to sort out a flight, which would mean leaving at five. I glanced at the clock, it was nearly three. I had plenty of time to shower, dress and check out.

I ordered a coffee and sandwich from room service, and was just checking the furore on IMDB, when there was a knock on the door. I tied my robe tightly, and opened it, fully expecting to see a waiter. Instead I came face to face with a white faced, livid Henry.